


Sherlollipops - A Name Tattooed On My Heart

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [57]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Tattoo!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni!lock - He tells her he's in the navy when she asks about his tattoos. She knows he's lying, he knows she knows he's lying...but that's where the fun is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - A Name Tattooed On My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllTheBellsInVenice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/gifts), [AsteraceaeBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsteraceaeBlue/gifts).



> allthebellsinvenice said “Tattooed Sherlock AU” and I said…aww yisss! Uni!lock, rated M.

He told her he was in the navy, when they met at the club and she asked about his ink. She eyed his dark, curly locks doubtfully. “Bit overdue for a trim, aren’t you?” she asked, but allowed him to buy her a drink and snog her in the alley when they ducked out for a smoke. Then her friends dragged her back to dance and when she looked around for him, he was gone.

It was a damn shame; he was gorgeous and fit and a brilliant kisser. The tattoos were just the icing on an enigmatic cake.

The next time she saw him, weeks later at a different club a bit further from her uni dorm, he told her he’d been in prison. He also claimed prison as the reason for the small scar on his lip. She smirked a bit at that. “Looks more like a shaving nick.”

He smirked right back at her and said, “Well, too close a shave either way. Name’s Sherlock.”

That, she believed; after all, she told him afterwards, when his hand was up her blouse and his teeth nibbling at her ear, who would make up such an outlandish name? “Mine’s Molly,” she rather breathlessly added, giving his taut little ass an appreciative squeeze.

"I know. Molly Hooper," he replied, then shut up her barrage of questions very effectively by shoving his tongue down her throat. Riding back to uni on the tube with her friends later that night, cheeks still flushed red from dancing and other exertions, she saw her name badge still dangling from the outer pocket of her shoulder bag, and grinned.

It was an entirely different club, in an entirely different part of town, but of course he was there, running those long, gorgeous fingers through his long, gorgeous curls and smiling slyly at her. Obviously knowing exactly what he was doing to her, the git. "I don’t suppose you’ll believe I’m in a gang, either."

“Nope,” she replied, popping the p as obnoxiously as she could, the way her friend Meena hated. “Try again. The truth might get you past my knickers,” she added archly.

"Studying Chemistry at Cambridge, decided I needed a way to drive my family spare and discovered using needles was a good way to do it," came his prompt – and, as she was to later discover, completely honest – reply.

But there was something about the way he said it… Molly frowned. “You’re not just talking about tattoos.”

"Nope." He popped the p in imitation of her, and she felt her frown melt into a helpless smile. "However, I do find the body ink is a more…socially acceptable use of needles. Healthier, too."

She gave him a narrow look. "So you’re clean?"

"Currently." Another flash of white teeth in that devastatingly handsome face. "I could piss in a cup if you’d like. You can run the test yourself, since you’re a medical student at…"

"You already know where from my ID badge," Molly interrupted him. Suddenly the game was less fun that grabbing for the candle, so to speak. She snaked an arm around his neck, pulling his head down to meet hers for a heated kiss. "Yours or mine, Sherlock Holmes?"

He did a bit of a double-take and pulled out of her embrace. “How did you…ah. My brother contacted you, did he?”

She nodded and grinned. “Told me to either stay away from you so I wouldn’t get hurt – emotionally, since he assures me you’re not some creeper or psychopath – or let him pay me to spy on you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I hope you took the money.”

She smirked. “Course I did, I’m not stupid! Posh git in a suit offers me money to spy on a man I fancy, I jump at the chance!”

He slung an arm over her shoulder. “Back to mine then, unless you want to spend some of that hard-earned cash on a hotel room for the night?”

oOo

The cabbie wasn’t any too pleased with their public display of affection in the back seat, but the hefty tip Sherlock thrust into his hand when they arrived at his Montague Street flat put a smile on the crusty old man’s lips. Molly giggled and hid her face behind one hand; she was no Victorian miss, not shy when it came to going after what she liked and certainly not worried about anyone else’s opinions, but Sherlock was in a class by himself – and not just when it came to body ink.

Stumbling and giggling, hands in places they really shouldn’t be outside of a bedroom, they made their way into the front entry. Once the door shut behind them, Sherlock pressed her up against it, his hands on the bare flesh of her waist, one thigh pressed between her legs, and the shape of his desire clear to feel even through the denim of her miniskirt and his blue jeans. He snogged her breathless, and Molly returned the embrace with a ferocity that might have embarrassed her had she been completely sober.

Or perhaps not; Sherlock was possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, tats and all, and certainly the most alluring. She broke off the kiss with another giggle, and they headed up the stairs to his second floor flat. It was a bitch to negotiate considering that neither one wanted to take their hands off the other, but they managed. He groaned as they reached the landing and came to rest against the door, fumbling in his pockets for the key and entirely distracted by the way Molly’s tongue and fingers were tracing the lines of his tattoos – the ones on his left wrist and upper arm, ending up on the skull-and-crossbones just under his left ear. The one his brother hated the most and parents still didn’t know about.

Thoughts of family – and pretty much anything else except getting Molly inside his flat so he could shag her silly – vanished from his mind as her tongue swirled around the shell of his ear. He groaned again, finally managed to fit the key into the lock, and they half-fell inside, his hands now busily groping their way beneath her satiny yellow blouse and denim mini-skirt.

Pesky clothing finally gone, he watched her as she admired the lines and swirls of color on his body – the design above his heart he would one day explain to her, the bands on his arms and the one his left thigh that particularly fascinated her. She certainly was a tactile creature, not only touching but tasting all of them. The one on his thigh was particularly close to an uninked portion of his body that he was very interested in letting her explore further, and she quickly took the hint when his thigh twitched beneath her lips.

Her dancing fingers stroked and then cupped his balls, her mouth moving with exquisite slowness until suddenly her tongue darted out and left a wet trail along his hard length. He groaned and gave into the desire to tangle his fingers in her hair, taking care not to press her head down no matter how violently he wanted to thrust himself into the wet warmth of her mouth. Her lipstick was leaving red streaks on his body, nearly all smeared away from their sloppy kisses but not entirely gone yet. He had a sudden urge to kiss the rest of it from her lips and, as he’d done ever since meeting her, denied himself nothing.

Their mouths met with an urgency he hadn’t felt for anyone else, male or female, since…well, ever, actually. Not even his last semi-serious relationship. Victor had been lovely, but Molly…there was something about Molly that spoke of permanence, of home, although he still wasn’t entirely sure why. Victor Trevor’s name wasn’t one he’d ever consider tattooing on his flesh, but hers…

“Want you,” she gasped against his lips as the kiss ended. Her hands were on the sides of his head, her fingers tangled in his too-long curls just as his were tugging at her long, cinnamon tresses. The red streaks she’d dyed with such obvious exuberance had been what first caught his attention, three clubs and many weeks back; it wasn’t the garish bright crimson one might expect, but a darker red that spoke of blood and violence and was at such odds with her sweet face and wide brown eyes that he couldn’t help but be intrigued. And the way she saw right through his fibs…well, he hadn’t been trying very hard, actually. He just wanted to intrigue her as much as she did him, and wasn’t it fantastic that it had actually worked.

“Clearly,” was all he mumbled in response as he moved his mouth to her neck and began sucking his claim there. Yes, it was only a temporary mark, but he already knew he had no interest in having and discarding her the way he had so many others. A love-bite wasn’t just about territory, although in this case he definitely wanted everyone who saw her to know that she belonged to him.

“Git,” she mumbled, nipping at his ear and digging her nails into his scalp by way of punishment. He growled and pinned her to the bed, enjoying the feel of her naked flesh beneath his. She had only one tiny tattoo on her left wrist – a rose, boring, predictable, he’d have to talk her into something more adventuresome – and he moved his mouth over it as she had over his many marks, nipping lightly before moving his lips over to her breasts.

oOo

Molly moaned and gasped as Sherlock’s mouth moved over her body, sighing with purest happiness as he sucked each of her nipples into his mouth in turn. They were large in comparison to her smallish breasts, but no one had ever complained, and her current partner certainly seemed to approve. He was mumbling as he suckled, his fingers stroking down her body to rest between her already-damp thighs. She parted them and listened dreamily as he continued to recite what sounded like bits of the periodic table of elements to her, until suddenly his head was between her legs and his mouth was far too busy wringing near screams of ecstasy out of her to form any more words.

After he’d brought her to a shuddering, moaning mess and begun kissing his way back up her body, she found the strength to roll him onto his back and finish what she’d started earlier, diving down to suck his cock deep into her throat. She smiled internally at the sound of his throaty groans and gasps of arousal, at the way his cock twitched beneath her ministrations, at how his hands clutched at her hair so tightly but never forced her head down beyond her own comfort levels. It was all instinct and pleasure and no thought but one: she’d never enjoyed sex with anyone as much as she was with this near-stranger. Even though her friends would think she was mad to go home with someone she’d only met a few times in different clubs, she never felt herself in any sort of danger.

Except, perhaps, the danger of losing her heart to a self-confessed former junkie.

The sound of a foil packet tearing brought her out of her jumble of thoughts, and she allowed Sherlock to press her onto her back as he slipped the condom onto his cock. She opened her legs, welcoming his weight as he eased his way into her body, then wrapped them around his lean waist, pulling him onto her. She nipped at his lips until he growled and kissed her, thrusting his hips against hers in an easy rhythm that quickly sped up in pace until the obscene slap of flesh on flesh drowned even the sound of her thundering heartbeat and gasping breaths.

“God, Molly, this is it, it’s fucking perfect, you’re perfect,” Sherlock gasped out, and Molly exulted at the love words even knowing that it was hormones and adrenaline and the heat of the moment. Later she’d discover that, no, he meant what he said, no exaggeration and no hyperbole, and that knowledge would make her heart sing, but for now she was more than content in just feeling. Feeling his body strung so tensely against hers, feeling him moving so deep inside her, his lips on her throat, sucking what she knew would be another dark purple mark into her tender flesh, his hands holding hers as he twisted his hips and brought her crashing over the edge and into the sweet, temporary oblivion of orgasm.

oOo

After they’d both come down from the high, Molly curled around him as he stroked her flesh with one hand, the other holding the post-coital cigarette they were sharing. She unflinchingly examined the faded needle tracks on the insides of his elbows as he took another drag. She looked, up being sure to meet his eyes as she said, “I’d rather see more of these on you…” She trailed a finger across the tattoo sat over his heart, “…than these.” She kissed the inside of his left elbow, then laid down and smiled up at him.

His hand, which had been idly tracing a path down her back and to her bum, clenched with unexpected emotion. “Deal,” he said hoarsely, then leaned down to pull her back into his arms.

He already knew it was the only place he ever wanted to be.


End file.
